Weekly Story-week 6

“Charger Six, this is Bandit Two Six, Over.” cut through the hum and whine of the electronics and engine noise of the seventy-four-ton war machine Dexter called home.

“Bandit Two Six, Charger Six, SITREP, over.”

“Six, Unidentified track noises reported. From Alpha Romeo Two Tree Fife, south one point two, west point eight. Over”

Dexter heard nothing but static and electrical hum in the headphones of his CVC helmet. He drew a breath of stale air, tinged with the chemical tang of fuel and cleaning fluid. His thumb moved to hover over the transmit button. A quick flip of the channel select switch to internal: “Crew report”

“loadah ready”

“Gunnah ready”

“Driver ready.”

All three responses came quickly— smooth, cool, practiced.

“Battle carry sabot”

Fitzi hesitated. “Sir?”

“Something’s not right. We’ve no friendlies anywhere near the location of those track noises. I am not gonna be caught with my pants around my ankles and my Schmetzer hanging out, if things go south.”

With a click and a whoosh, the ammo compartment slid open. Fitzi erupted into motion. Sliding the 122mm round out, he cradled it against his shoulder. As his hips slid towards the breech of the cannon, his knee released the switch holding the 1-inch thick steel door open. The door slid shut with a dull thunk. Lowering his shoulder, the sharp, conical tip of the projectile slid into the empty breech. Curling his fingers into a fist to protect them, he pushed the round forward until it was fully seated. With a click, the breech slid closed, pushing up against the loader's forearm. In the same motion, his hands grasped the arming lever.

“UP!”

“Fitzi,” Dexter said, “put the main gun on ‘Safe’ for now.”

“Roger.”

Sully spoke up from Dexter’s feet, “Sir, do you reall…”

A new voice crackled in Dexter's ears, “Bandit Two Six, this is Charger Six Actual. Can you confirm your last SITREP. Over.”

Oh shit, thought Dexter, the commander doesn’t believe me. “Wait one, Over”. Dropping to the company radio net, he called.

“Tiger 3 Oscar Papa, Bandit Six. Over”

The observation post reply came back fast and hushed, their voices tight with tension. “Confirmed, Bandit Six. And from the sounds, they’re heavies.”

Dexter's knuckles cracked as his grip tightened on the radio controls. The uneasiness he felt earlier was now a dense sinking ball of ice in his stomach.

A brilliant flash of light and loud KARRUMP shattered the night. Dexter and the loader dropped into the turret. Hatches slammed shut, isolating the crew from the cacophony of noise and the chaos that reigned outside.

Dexter pressed the transmitter, “This is Bandit Six, Weapons free. Keep me informed. Out.”

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, TTHHUUMPP sounded all around, and the tank shook like a buoy in a rough sea, getting hammered by concussion waves. Bracing himself in the tank commander's seat, Dexter jumped into action with practiced ease.

“Leroy, pull us up into the firing position.” Leroy wasn’t really his driver’s name. Timothy Jenkins was. But with a last name Jenkins, your nickname was certainly going to be Leroy.

“Sully, scan for targets”. The words barely reached Sully’s ears before a response resounded in the headphones.

“Tanks in the open, direct front!”

Dexter peered into his viewfinder, confirming what his gunner was aiming at.

“Gunner. Sabot. Tank. Left tank first.”

“Identified.”

“Up!” Yelled Fitzi, arming the main gun.

“Fire!”

Boom, the cannon fired, the tank recoiled, rocking back, a red streak screamed across the field, slamming into the lead tank. Three other spears of crimson raced across the field, three enemy tanks skewed to a stop

Target! Ceasefire! Driver back up.

The gun barrel traversed back and forth, searching for more targets.

KARUMP! WHAM! shockwaves slammed into the tank, jarring the bolts and bodies inside. Dexter tumbled from the TC seat. Sweat and cordite smoke stung his eyes. Fighting to regain his footing and bearings, training took over.

“Crew Report,” Dexter chopped into the microphone.

Silence.

Then Speedy replied, “Driver ready.”

Fitzi followed, “Loader ready, sabot loaded.”

Sully was last, “Uhh, boss, I can’t see,” his voice rising.

Dexter's eyes widened, fear gripped him. He didn’t think they had been penetrated. Sully’s voice became shrill, “Something's blocking the sights!”

Dexter looked through his sight, the image was partially blocked.

WHuummp! The image wavered and moved. Leaves. He was looking at leaves. Pings of small-caliber rounds ricocheting off the turret were barely audible, but signaled the fight was still ongoing. A tree had fallen on his tank.

Clang! The impact threw Dexter against the turret wall as a noise so loud it jarred his teeth rang through the vehicle. Fitzi was crumpled on the floor of the turret. They were in a BAD spot.

“Driver back up!” Speedy applied power and the metal beast's tracks ground back, straining under the weight of the tree. The tank lurched to the side under the shifting weight.

“Sully, once we are free of the tree, check the gun and controls. I need to know if we can still fight.”

Radio reports flooded in, Fitzi took notes, and Dexter organized his thoughts.

“Charger Six, Bandit Two Six. SITREP follows. Twelve enemy tanks destroyed. Six personnel carriers destroyed. Two tanks need evac. Request wrecker. 6 Whiskey India Alpha. Moving to Romeo Papa Six Two. Will report when in position. Over”

“Bandit Two Six, Charger Six. Roger. Continue mission, keep me informed. Out.”

As the tank lurched forward deeper into the darkness, so did Dexter’s mind. His dreams would never be the same.